Exceptional Insanity

PINIMAGE
Mr. Jester
welcomes you.

      This is New Orleans.
     We rock it out every day (and by ‘rock’ I mean eat, drink, dance, drink some more).
     The average age of internment is lower then the national average (see above), but we sure live while we’re here- and then, there’s Mardi Gras.
     Only for pros.
     But this year is more intense- we’re hosting the Super Bowl right in the middle of it all!

     Sweet Mary Mother of Jesus this is going to be interesting!
     You can always identify a ‘visiter’ by their glassy-eyed stares, a HugeAssBeer to-go cup, and their commitment to not unload the thirty pounds of beads around their necks while they’re puking on the sidewalk.
     So expected.
     “Can I help you?”
     “Oh, I know you’re sorry.”
     “I’ll just go turn on the hose.”
     “No. No naps here. Let’s get you down to the neighborhood poop park where you can rest a bit.”
     “Yes, you too sweetheart. Yes, they’re lovely. Keep your pants up. That’s a good girl.”
      Now factor in an additional eighty thousand testosterone driven men who can no longer hunt for validation so they watch other men clothesline each other on a field of green (stuff) and power bump each others manly chests. 
     And they wear polyester jerseys!

     The ‘live-here’s know to pace themselves, how to handle an all-day rum punch, a big game.
     We never show our ta-ta’s in public because we’re not sun deprived and a sophomore from Wisconsin State with a u-tube deathwish.
     We do our crazy in the Blue Room at Antoine’s, or the pre-party for Bacchus, or in front of assorted televisions at apleasanthouse.
     This Sunday…

no exception.

   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
     
   




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